


The Bar

by asamandra



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clint is a regular in a bar, Drowning Sorrows, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asamandra/pseuds/asamandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever something bad happens Clint drowns his sorrow in his favorite pub</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bar

Ron was barkeeper with heart and soul. He wasn't always a barkeeper. Forty years ago he was a cop. But then he got shot in the knee and had to quit the service with twenty-six years. Seven months he was drifting, didn't know what to do with the rest of his life, how to feed his family, his wife, the twins. He thought about to sell the house he inherited from his parents but he couldn't do that. And so he just sat in this bar and drank and felt sorry for himself. 

Gary, the owner, an old, retired cop himself, smacked him over the head one day, literally. He told him that he and his wife wanted to sell the bar and spend the rest of their lives in Florida. And that he, Ron, could buy the bar if he wanted to. He talked to Karen, his wife, then to the bank, again to his wife, then to Karen's father and with a harsh financing plan he agreed and bought the bar. He never regretted it. 

He spent most of his time in this bar since forty years. He has seen people come and go, he has a lot of regulars and had lost a lot of them. He knows his patrons. Knows if they wanted to talk or just stay alone with their drink. He knows when they have enough and when he has to call a cab or the wife. He knows how to handle it when they fight, how to handle it when they get handsy and how to handle it when they drown their sorrow.

'Mark my words, son,' Gary had said before he left, 'you are their confessor, psychologist and supplier, their best friend and worst enemy. You will hear things, see things and it's important that you keep them to yourself. As long as your patrons are in here you are responsible for them. They will tell you their secrets, you will see their worst sides, you will share their fear and their happiness, but you have to keep it to yourself.' And Gary was right. He'd seen everything in here. Celebrating men when their wives got children and men who drank themselves into a coma because of the same reason. He'd seen proposals and news of someones deaths, he'd seen the beginnings of relationships and their endings. He'd seen people just sitting there and he'd seen them making a fool out of themselves. And he kept everything to himself. That's why his patrons always came back. He cared for them but didn't get involved with them.

Ron was in his bar when New York got attacked by Aliens for the first time. They called themselves Chitauri, he heard that in the news and he'd seen everything on TV, like the rest of his guests. They sat there and watched the fight on TV and Ron thanked his creator that the bar wasn't in the area where the Aliens fought against the Avengers. He was in his bar when other creatures attacked New York or other parts of the country or the world. He'd seen it on TV. As well as his patrons.

A few days after the incident with the Chitauri a young man came in. He was military, everyone could see it even if he wasn't in uniform. Just jeans, worn out boots, a shirt, a hoodie and a leather jacket. And shades. He took a seat on the far end of the bar and ordered vodka. Ron looked at him and knew, that guy didn't want to talk. He sat there the whole evening, drank vodka and stared into his drink and Ron didn't interrupt him. He even shooed Eliza away. She was one of the regulars and she always hit on young men who sat there alone. Most of the guys she hit on were half of her age but that never stopped her. But Ron could see that the young man wanted to be alone, wanted to forget his sorrows and so he shooed her away. 

A few weeks later the guy came back. This time he wore uniform but one Ron had never seen so far. Black leather and a purple accented tac vest with a bird on the front. He took the seat on the far end and ordered vodka. Ron could see the bloody lip he had and that he limped when he walked to his chair but he didn't say anything. He left him alone, supplied him with his drinks and when it was late and he was trashed Ron called him a cab and helped him out into the car. That evening he saw in the news that Chicago got attacked by giant robots and the Avengers had been there to fight against them this morning.

The next time the guy came Ron remembered that there was an attack of an organization called Hydra in Washington and he'd seen an archer with black leather gear, accentuated with purple parts on the tac vest. And he wore shades. When the guy came in and took his usual place Ron didn't wait for him to order, he just put a glass of vodka in front of him and the man nodded grateful but didn't say anything.

It was nearly a month later till the man came back. He looked like shit, Ron could tell but he didn't judge. He served him his vodka and left him alone. He knew, if he wanted to talk, he would start it but unless he wouldn't bother him. Eliza once again tried her luck but again Ron shooed her away and the man, who saw this, nodded at him with a tiny smile. Later that evening, when he was really smashed and Ron wanted to call a cab for him another man came in. Black haired with a neatly trimmed goatee. The suit he wore was more expensive than the whole bar. He took off his shades and looked around, saw the young man in the corner and stepped up to him. 

'Come on, baby,' he said, 'it wasn't your fault.' And the young man clung onto him and finally started to sob into the expensive suit. The two left together and the dark haired man left a banknote under his glass. It was more than enough for the whole clientele of this evening. When he was at home this evening Karen told him, that the Avengers were called to Los Angeles and that some guys blew up a bus full of children before they could do anything. All of them were dead. Ron just nodded and said, that he wouldn't want to change place with them. He didn't specify if he meant the parents, the children or the Avengers.

Two weeks later the young man was back. He ordered his vodka, sat at his chair and drank till he was smashed. Ron had heard the fight in the streets of Manhattan yesterday. It was loud and the Avengers needed the help of the Fantastic Four to get rid of their attackers. There wasn't anything in the news who attacked them but they looked really nasty. It was past midnight when he saw the young man sway alarmingly and he helped him into the back to his office. He took his phone and called Stark Tower. The receptionist wanted to know who he was and what he wanted. Ron just said, that one of his patrons needs a lift and Mr. Stark would know about it. He left his address and went back to his guests. Ten minutes later the dark haired man was here. Ron pointed with his chin at the door and a few minutes later the two men came out. The older one handed him a banknote, smiled and nodded grateful and Ron smiled back and when he wanted to give him his change, they were gone.

The next morning a courier came and had a parcel for him. Ron frowned, he hadn't ordered anything but took it nevertheless. When he opened it he found a bottle of Macallan Lalique, fifty-five years old. No note, no card, nothing. But he knew where it came from. He smiled and carried the bottle to his office. He would open it when he would go into retirement. But now he had to take care of his patrons.

**Author's Note:**

> [asamandra on tumblr](http://asamandra.tumblr.com/)


End file.
